Blondes Just Have More Fun
by bebitched
Summary: It's not like she feels guilty or anything. Shannon and Claire have a rare conversation during White Rabbit. Rated for language. Oneshot.


Boone is an idiot.

This isn't the first time the thought has occurred to Shannon, but he'd never swiped the only water supply and created mass panic among the island equivalent of angry villagers. It's not that she feels bad for putting everyone else out. No. But when Jack and the others find out that Boone is a thief, she's not sure what they'll do to him, and even though she won't admit it out loud, the idea scares her.

He'd come to her mid-morning, when the sun was at it's most annoying slant and she could barely see her toes and the crimson nail polish brush between her fingers above the reflective sand.

"Shan? I need to show you something."

She'd squinted her eyes down at her feet and made a point of ignoring him.

He grunted, trying to get her attention. "You're not even listening to me, are you?"

"I heard you. I'm just pretending you're a desert mirage the me that hates the other me is using to smoke the other out." She paused and glanced up at a very confused Boone, "See in this alternate universe I have a split personality."

"Can't you just stop tanning or whatever you're doing and give me a second of your precious time?"

Shannon glanced up at him and smiled a little. "No."

"Would you just…" his voice strained and she thought he was going to pop before, "Can you just trust me on this?"

She evaluated the look on his face, serious, not as if that was a shocker for him recently (she'd warned him about wrinkles but he wouldn't listen), and nodded quickly. "Fine. Whatever. I could use a minute out of the sun anyway."

Boone had taken her out to the jungle, despite her whines of protests because, hello?! Heels! Yet he'd only rolled his eyes and kept walking.

They came to a clearing, at which point Boone paused and looked around suspiciously, stopping just short of licking his finger and testing the wind direction.

"You're not a CIA agent on a secret mission, dumbass. Now what did you want to show me?" Shannon crossed her arms over her chest, now regretting her decision not to pull on a shirt over her bikini before leaving the beach. She felt awkward just standing there in practically her underwear.

"Here." He gestured to the hole in the dirt over which she could only assume Boone had laid palm fronds to inconspicuously hide whatever this was.

Shannon glanced over at him nervously, now for the first time worried over what exactly he had stashed away. If Boone had to keep something secret on an island where there were no narks or parents on porn patrol, there might be an issue with the situation.

Boone pulled back the jungle foliage to reveal a blue suitcase that looked suspiciously like the one containing the water supply.

This was where Shan realized the true extent of her step-brother's stupidity.

"Are you freaking crazy?" She tried not to speak too loudly because, well, this wasn't exactly the kind of thing you shout about when you're surrounded by the people you stole from.

"It was running out." He explained evenly, shrugging his shoulders in a way that made Shannon want to grab him by the ears and swing him around until he flew away.

Maybe that was the key to rescue. Not that she was worried about it or anything.

"So you took it? I may not be known for being smart, but that doesn't strike me as one of your best ideas."

Boone shook his head at the ground, and Shannon got the distinct impression that he was disappointed _with her_.

"Look, we all have to take care of ourselves here. This is the jungle, Shan. There's no sheriff to tell everyone to conserve their resources. We could all die if someone doesn't step up."

"And you think that person is you." She couldn't help but smile at his little superhero stance as he made his grand speech. And it reminded her oddly of the way Jack stood around the camp, making proclamations and looking rugged. It just seemed disproportional on Boone, like a gangly sixteen-year-old in his father's suit for prom. "Please Boone. Just take the water back, I'm sure they'll forget about the whole thing after the next polar bear attack."

"No, Shan. I'm taking care of us. Regardless if you want to take care of yourself."

So now Shannon was stomping back to her sunny place in the sand, cursing her step-brother for his ignorance and having every intention to conveniently forget the whole thing and acting pretty but dumb if she was asked anything about it. Yet she noticed a commotion by the wreckage and since she was already up figured she might as well go check it out.

She wandered over to the fray of people surrounding what looked like that pregnant blonde she'd been talking to earlier being carried to a tent. Must be nice to have your own man slaves to tote you everywhere.

"What happened?" she questioned the first random person she saw and he shrugged.

"Guess it's the heat. She collapsed a few minutes ago."

Shannon could see Charlie and Hurley disappear into the tent and she snuck behind it, listening in on their conversation.

"The water's gone." She heard the British one say in a panicked voice and she just about had a heart attack. So much for convincing Boone to come to his senses before anyone found out.

------

Shannon is loitering. Not in the stalker-ish, most businesses explicitly ward off against it, way, but she was still lingering.

No one ever left Claire alone in the tent, and the little hobbit was starting to annoy her with his long visits and not leaving except to drain water from leaves and offer it to her like a panting lap dog. Shannon kind of missed the days where Charlie was her bitch. Every islander who happened to be her should have one, and the pickings were getting kind of slim. So far Kate had her stake on two, which was totally unfair because she had claimed Sawyer first and Kate knew it. But Claire was using her Virgin Mary charms on him, which Shannon definitely respected as a tactic, and now he just wouldn't leave, like a parasite that latches on and won't let go.

Although it was seeming as if Charlie was finally letting Claire get some rest.

Finally.

Not that she felt guilty or anything.

The hot pink tube top in her hand was extraordinarily fascinating and she did not take note of the fact that Charlie past by her or that Claire stopped twitching and was now still.

As in sleeping.

So Shannon made her way in that direction, for no reason in particular, and happened to stealthily sneak inside the tent. She took a seat opposite Claire as she dreamed away about God knows what, although she looked emotionless, not happy. So a sex dream couldn't be playing across her eyelids and that made Shannon disappointed for some reason. As if she hoped that behind the candy apple and kitten façade she was really just a skanky whore.

But alas, no such luck.

Then Shannon's eyes fell on Claire's stomach, the beach ball teen nightmare that Shannon had envision several times with a pregnancy test in one hand and the of-the-now boyfriend's fingers clasped in the other. In all three instances she'd let go and broken up with them as soon as the stick turned blue.

But for some reason this sad sight made Shannon warm up to Claire. They were definitely opposites in every respect except their hair color, L'Oreal's platinum crystal in her case, yet she felt a kinship with the other woman. She couldn't say she wasn't attractive, and Shannon could recall a waitress that looked similar, round face and innocent eyes, that she'd made blush in Paris with only innuendo. She'd been in her "experimental" stage then, and both Boone and her step-mother preferred to keep it that way in their minds.

For some reason, unknown to her, her hand took on a mind of its own and found its way to Claire's stomach. Her fingers slid over Claire's belly, lingering over the slight dip of her belly button and resting directly over top. She almost gasped as she felt the thump of what seemed like a tiny fist meet her palm. Or it could have been a foot. Shannon had definitely never made a point of rubbing pregnant women's stomachs, but this was the oddest sensation she'd ever experienced. Like resting you're hand on a balloon. With a little person inside. But before she could think up anymore metaphors to describe it, another hand slid overtop of hers and Shannon looked down to find Claire awake and alert.

She made a move to pull her hand away, but Claire held in firm, intertwining it with her own and repositioning them to the left.

"That." Claire squinted, trying to differentiate limbs. "It's a toe. A very pointy toe." Shannon smiled in spite of herself.

"Feels like a little eraser pushing on my finger." Shannon blushed as soon as she said it, and Shannon made a point of never blushing. It was too playground school girl for her taste, and she'd passed that stage before it even had a chance to take effect.

"Yeah. It takes some getting used to."

"Do you have a name?" Shannon wasn't sure what her mouth was doing to her, but her brain definitely was not instructing these words to spill out from between her lips.

"Not exactly. I wasn't planning on keeping him."

Shannon's mouth formed into a revelational, uncomfortable, silent 'oh' before dropping her gaze to her hands. The ouija board like movement of their hands seemed to be the only thing keeping her from gracefully stumbling out and away from the tent at any moment.

"I'm not sure how much help I'd be, no procreational impulse and all, but sometimes it helps to talk it out," she offered.

Claire nodded, considering the idea for a moment before, "I've always liked the name Leo, from my astrology stuff I guess."

Shannon shook her head adamantly. "I dated a Leo once. Trust me, you do not want a kid like that."

Claire giggled, "Okay, Leo is off the table. Any other suggestions?"

"Any dead relatives you inherited money from? It would be a nice way to thank them."

"No." Claire rolled her eyes, "I work at a fish-fry. I am definitely not an heiress."

"Well okay." she sighed in mock annoyance, "What about your father? Since judging by the male pronouns you've been using you think it's a boy, seems like a good choice."

Shannon knew she'd said something wrong the minute the words left her lips, based on the way Claire's eyes shifted away and clouded over.

"My father--biological father--wasn't exactly around when I was growing up. It was just mum and me."

Shannon sucked in her lip and bit, hard, for the first time in a couple of years regretting something stupid she'd said. That wasn't a regret she'd admit to often.

"Who do you want him to be?" She questioned suddenly, puzzled as to where she was coming up with this advice. She wasn't exactly an expect on the matter.

"Sorry?"

"Figure out who you want him to be, what you want for him, and then give him a title that fits."

Claire's gaze drifted over Shannon's face slowly, meandering between the seriousness of her eyes and the tight line of her mouth, before nodding.

"I want him to be happy." her eyes slowly shut into a thin crease, pondering on her son and what he would have that she didn't. "Happy and brave. I wasn't ever brave growing up." she explained regretfully, "He never lets someone step on him or kick him around. He's strong, but compassionate. He's the type that everyone knows and everyone likes, yet won't let it get to his head. He's the best." Claire looked at Shannon skeptically through slivers of eyelids, "Generic enough for you?"

Shannon groaned, "That was good. And it gave me an idea."

"Really?" Claire questioned, surprised, struggling to sit up a little on her elbows.

"Yeah. Aaron."

"How did you..." Claire's face twisted into that of confusion. "Where did that come from?"

"Well." Shannon leaned toward her, partially because she didn't want the other woman to have to move in her condition, and partially because she just wanted to be closer. "You said the best. The one that could kick everyone's ass but chooses to save everyone instead. No matter in what crowd, Aaron will come first." Shannon straightened, feeling herself on the boundry of being too personal or compassionate. She rolled her eyes and said matter-of-factly, "It's the double a's."

Claire smirked in a way that Shannon had never seen before but wished she had, the pale pink lips of a bonafide angel doing a devil's work. "Alright. I'll consider it."

"If you would do me the honor." She responded in sarcasm, flipping the hair in her ponytail like a horse tossing its mane.

And even though it was nearly the only conversation they'd ever had, or ever would have, for a moment Shannon could forget she was the island bitch and Claire could forget she was the island saint and they could just be people. Blonde people. Pretty people. But still people.


End file.
